


Afterparty

by Sulwen



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Glam Rock RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-28
Updated: 2011-04-28
Packaged: 2017-10-18 18:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys and boots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Afterparty

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing is Adam/boy of your choice. My first time trying that out - let me know if it works!
> 
> Warning for boot worship, including licking.

He's never been much into shoes, even when they're on Adam.

Boots, on the other hand...

*

He rests on his belly on the bedroom floor and looks up at Adam, eyes wide, head cocked in an unspoken question. Adam looms above him, unbelievably, _ridiculously_ tall, big and intimidating and perfect. He hasn't taken off a single thing yet, looks just as he did for the cameras hours earlier, and there's something about that thought that's deliciously _bad._

Adam watches him through heavily lidded eyes, shadows playing over his face and blurring the sharp lines of his goatee. A touch of light catches his eyes, the sharp whiteness of his teeth glinting through the darkness, and suddenly there's a tension in the room that wasn't there before, a heavy feeling of anticipation that makes breath catch in the throat, blood speed through the veins, normal everyday barriers crack and fall away.

He lets out a shuddering breath as Adam takes one tiny step forward, and suddenly his senses are overwhelmed with the smell of leather, so strong he can almost _taste_ it. He wants to look, to touch, drink in those boots with every sense he's got. But he knows better, knows to wait. Adam likes to grant permission, and more often than not, what Adam wants, Adam gets.

Finally, _finally,_ Adam raises an eyebrow, one corner of his lips twisting into a smirk, and his eyes go focused and _intent._ Permission granted.

Getting his hands on the smooth, warm leather at last is like nothing he's ever experienced before – not like running fingers through hair, or over bare skin, or against the rough wetness of tongue. He traces every wrinkle, every slight seam, watching his pale hands cut through the deep blackness, and he's hard already, hips rubbing a tiny thrusting pattern into the carpet beneath him.

Adam is stoic, as he always is at first, the picture of control, but it's not difficult to crack that veneer, to lean in and press his nose into the curve of an ankle and breathe deep, hands coming around to cup the heel as if it were the face of a lover, something precious and beautiful, to be handled with care.

He can hear Adam breathing hard above him, can see his hands out of the corners of his eyes, fingers clenching into fists and releasing over and over again, and he knows he doesn't have long before Adam reaches down to grab him by the hair, clothes and boots and everything else forgotten in the rush of desire. It's now or never.

He nuzzles his face against Adam's foot one more time, marveling at how comfortable he is there, as if he could pillow his head right here for the rest of the night, content at Adam's feet. Then he pulls back and glances up at Adam quickly, once, just to see the look on his face as he licks his lips, slow, dirty.

The leather tastes nothing like Adam, all salt and dirt and musk, but Adam sounds like he's just licked a stripe up his cock instead of his ankle, low and rough and very, very pleased. The rush is incredible, and he can hardly think through it, can hardly pay attention to anything but the way the leather shines like new as his tongue licks inch after inch, wet and clean and _marked._ He's never been able to find the words to tell Adam how he feels, exactly, but this feels like the closest he's ever gotten. The word _worship_ floats through his head, unattached to anything much, and maybe it should be frightening, a little, instead of _thrilling._

Above him, Adam is fumbling at the fastenings of his pants, taking out his cock and stroking hard and fast, sloppy, fucking _flattering_ in how desperate he is. It's difficult to leave Adam's boots behind, to raise up onto his knees, but he loves the way Adam looks when he comes, the way it feels when Adam's shooting hot and wet and uncontrolled all over his face.

He wonders, just as Adam is falling over the edge, if his tongue is dark at all, blackened by the caress of boot leather, thinks about what that must look like, Adam striping patterns in white all across that blackness, and he can't, _can't_ hold out any longer, three quick strokes right through his pants and _done_ just as Adam sinks to his knees, fists his fingers into messy hair, and pulls him in for a breathless kiss.

He tastes like satisfaction and spunk and leather. Like getting everything you never knew you wanted.


End file.
